


i know the sun must set to rise

by the_bisexual_disaster



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Ramsay Bolton - Freeform, Mentions of Rape/Sexual Assault, Slow Burn, Violence, canon divergence- season 7, it gets real gay up in here, lotta death guys, maybe some fluff???, mentions of abuse/beatings, mentions of battle, past Jaime Lannister/Cersei Lannister - Freeform, starving my gendrya heart to feed my arcella heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23023426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_bisexual_disaster/pseuds/the_bisexual_disaster
Summary: “Can’t I say goodbye to Trystane?”“No, Myrcella.”“But-”“Listen to me. If we don’t leave right this instant we could all be in danger. You, me, your mother, and your brother. Do you understand?”
Relationships: Arya Stark/Myrcella Baratheon
Comments: 46
Kudos: 79





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> henlo!  
> this is a first for me not only because i've never written arcella before, but also because i've outlined the first 15 chapters and have already started writing chapter 2! (whaaaaat!) but fr, updates will be extremely sporadic. i'm just about to start another round of midterms and then it's finals season and then its the gendrya big bang and this is a long winded way of me saying i am a very busy person.  
> title from paradise by coldplay

It was the middle of the night, but somehow it was still stifling fucking hot. Jaime didn’t know how it could stay this hot even after the sun disappeared over the horizon. It kept him awake, this heat, along with the lack of moisture in the air. It wasn’t something he was used to by far.

It had taken him longer than it should have to reach a chamberpot. _Why did they have to be so bloody far from my rooms? Why wasn’t there one_ in _my room?_

He was so involved with his internal raging about the location of the chamberpots while trying to sate his desire to piss all over the floor when he heard voices talking quietly. He wasn’t unused to the late-night plotting that came with serving kings, queens, lords, and ladies in King’s Landing, but the Martells’ hatred for the Lannister lion made him weary, so he stepped closer to listen.

“...poison the girl before she leaves,” a feminine voice whispered. “Take care of the Martell boy once the Lannisters’ ships leave. Leave the prince to me.”

Ellaria Sand. 

“What about the guards, Mother?” Obviously, one of her daughters. Jaime had never been good at matching voices to names. 

“Stay close, but hidden. I’ll need-”

Jaime didn’t stay to hear the rest of the conversation. They were going to kill Myrcella. He wasn’t going to let anyone take another of his children away.

\---------------------------

Myrcella was shaken awake from a rather dreamless sleep. She found she didn’t dream much, if at all, and a quiet sleep became all the more common as she got more and more comfortable in Sunspear. 

She jolted up in her bed and nearly smacked her uncle -father?- Jaime on the forehead.

“I’m sorry!” she cried softly.

“No need to apologize,” he whispered. Myrcella looked out the window, expecting it to be nearly midday, but the sun hadn’t even begun to rise.

“Uncle, what-”

“No time to explain,” he muttered, tossing a thin cloak with a hood her way and rooting through her chest. He took a few of her more modest pieces out and tossed them on the bed. 

“Take those,” he demanded, “and follow me.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on! Right now!” Myrcella was aware she sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Jaime’s urgent demeanor was making her anxious and he was going to make her leave. 

She didn’t want to leave. Sunspear had become her home over the past few years. The villagers and their children had become her friends and Trystane her true love. She didn’t want to leave Ellaria and Arianne and Nym and Elia and Obara. This was her life now, because her Uncle Tyrion sent her away.

However, the thought of going back to King’s Landing made her heart ache. She missed her mother. She missed Tommen and Ser Pounce. She wanted so badly to see them again, even if for a little while.

“I’ll explain everything once we’re on the ship,” he assured her, “but for now, I need you to trust me and listen when I say we have to go right now.”

“Can’t I say goodbye to Trystane?”

“No, Myrcella.”

“But-”

“ _Listen to me._ If we don’t leave right this instant we could all be in danger. You, me, your mother, and your brother. Do you understand?”

Myrcella hesitated. She took a moment to weigh the options in front of her. If she left, it would be likely she’d never see Sunspear again. But, she was getting a sinking feeling that either she left now or she never left at all.

She took a deep breath. 

“Alright. Let’s go.”


	2. a light to burn all the empires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to be honest with you, i have never posted a new chapter this soon after i updated. but. it turns out i really like writing myrcella! she's really sweet and pure and i would die for her.   
> next up, arya!  
> title from the sharpest lives by my chemical romance

If Myrcella had been asked now whether she’d have left Sunspear or not, she would not have hesitated to say yes.

She’d taken a role as one of Tommen’s unofficial advisors, and as such, she had been able to see him make incredible changes not only in the Red Keep, but in King’s Landing as a whole. She’d been preparing to take over as queen should anything happen to Tommen before he and Queen Margaery can produce an heir, but she didn’t know if she wanted to be queen when her mother was still in the Red Keep, trying to control Tommen’s every move.

When Myrcella was a child, she looked up to her mother. She saw her mother as a powerful woman and a great queen. She was a warrior queen, but in her own way. She’d give her daughter what Myrcella later realized was drunken advice on how to survive the world as a woman and a princess.

If Myrcella could see her younger self now, she’d scorn her for ever believing in Cersei Lannister. 

When their ship landed in King’s Landing, her mother had practically jumped into the rowboat to hug Myrcella for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. The elation she felt at being held by her mother again dissipated when she spied the beast of a man standing behind them. Myrcella could place Ser Gregor Clegane anywhere due to his trademark armour and hulking size, but there was something wrong about his. His eyes were an unnatural black and he stood stiller than even the most trained soldier. 

It didn’t take Myrcella long to learn that her mother had The Mountain resurrected after his fight against Oberyn during her uncle Tyrion’s trial by combat. Myrcella hadn’t known Oberyn long, but his skill with a spear was legendary and he seemed nice enough. 

In addition to what was done to Ser Gregor, Myrcella learned about her mother’s manipulation of both Tommen and her sister-by-law, Margaery. Cersei had talked Tommen into bringing the Faith of the Seven into the Red Keep and giving the High Sparrow a position of power. Cersei had gotten Margaery and her brother, Loras, arrested due to Loras’ sexuality and in turn, got herself arrested on crimes of incest.

Cersei had taken Myrcella into a room, poured both of them some wine, and explained the circumstances surrounding the birth of Myrcella herself and her brothers. As Myrcella listened, she realized that what she already knew through the rumours that made it to Dorne.

Her uncle Jaime was her father. 

She had been sworn to secrecy, but she didn’t know what difference it would make. Most if not all of Westeros knew the truth because of what Ned Stark started nearly ten years ago. After, she went to Tommen and told him everything their mother had told her. As much as she loved her mother and feared her wrath, Tommen was her brother and her king, and he deserved to know the truth. 

He knew the truth through the rumours as well. He knew why Cersei was arrested. He knew Robert Baratheon wasn’t their father. 

He knew his claim to the throne wasn’t entirely legitimate. 

Tommen appointed Myrcella as an advisor after that. He said that going to him and telling him the truth showed true loyalty to him, and that he trusted her to advise him wisely.

Myrcella had been proud of the king her little brother had become. Under him, the realm was experiencing a time that was closer to peace than anything anyone had seen since Joffrey cut off Lord Stark’s head. 

He outlawed trial by combat.

He gave the food they didn’t eat to the smallfolk, so they may eat.

He undid Joffrey’s legacy of being cruel and unjust.

Both Tommen and Myrcella were doing their best at keeping Cersei as uninvolved as possible. Tommen’s small council locked her out of meetings. She was to stay in the balcony during briefings in the Throne Room along with the other ladies of the court instead of by Tommen’s side where Margaery stood as queen.

They should have realized something was wrong when Cersei went quiet.

Her attempts at being involved with the politics that came with living in the Red Keep stopped. She stood on the balcony in the Throne Room without complaint. She watched from afar as Tommen ruled his country. It was so unlike her, and Myrcella was so busy with her roles as Tommen’s trusted advisor and heir that she didn’t realize that Cersei was planning on bringing all Seven Hells to King’s Landing.

\-----------------------------

It was the morning of Cersei, Margaery, and Loras’ trials, and Myrcella was just about ready. She had bathed, dressed, and had just finished brushing out her golden curls and having it styled by her handmaiden. She’d tried to learn the handmaiden’s name, but the girl refused to speak to her. The handmaiden was hand selected by her mother, and had short cropped hair like Cersei had now. She wore plain black dresses and only spoke to Myrcella on rare occasions. 

Myrcella had gotten up to leave for the trial when a Lannister guard stepped in her way.

“What is the meaning of this? I demand you let me pass!”

Myrcella wasn’t one to command or even raise her voice, but her handmaiden was slow, particularly quiet, and stubborn this morning, and her patience was already running short.

“King’s orders, Princess.”

“King’s orders?” she repeated, bewildered. “The king himself asked that I attend the trials today. The king’s orders are that you let me pass.”

“I have been told to ensure you stay in your rooms this morning, Princess.”

“Who told you to keep me here?”

“I am here on the order of the king, Princess.”

Myrcella felt uneasy. There was something she wasn’t privy to, and the guard, who she didn’t recognize, wasn’t telling her anything. 

She remained in her chamber for hours. Surely, the trials were over by now, but the guard hadn’t left. Her handmaiden had come with food, water, and wine, but other than that, no one else had come.

Myrcella had found a book she kept in her room and decided that there was no time like the present to start. She had made it halfway through when a loud cacophonous _boom_ sounded from outside her open window. The reverberations from the source of the sound caused the entirety of the Red Keep to vibrate. She looked up in time to watch the Sept of Baelor be engulfed in green flames. 

_Tommen!_

If she had been kept in her chamber, it’s possible Tommen was too. She was ready to physically push her way past the guard stationed in her doorway if need be, but he’d already left. She ran as fast as she could down the hallway to her brother’s room and made it just in time to watch him step up onto the windowsill.

“Tommen, don’t!”

She was too late. Tommen leaned forward and fell out of the window. A sickening _thud_ sounded from below. 

She didn’t need to look to confirm he was dead.

Next, she ran to her mother’s chamber. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins so fast that she couldn’t slow down even though she knew speed wouldn’t make a difference now. The damage was done.

Myrcella didn’t know what she expected to see when she got to her mother’s room, but it certainly wasn’t what she found.

Cersei Lannister was sitting calmly out on the balcony that was attached to her room, sipping from a glass of wine. She wore a black dress with armour-like accents. 

Myrcella recalled a time when her mother refused to wear anything black. It washed out her skin, she claimed. 

“Mother,” she whispered in shock. It was obvious now who blew up the Sept. “What have you done?”

Cersei turned slowly, a grin on her face and satisfaction in her eyes.

“What I had to, sweet Myrcella.”


	3. somebody make me feel alive and shatter me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> henlo welcome back  
> today i bring to you an arya pov and the beginning of the Gay Thoughts that come with disaster bi!arya and disaster lesbian!myrcella.  
> also this got real dark because i lowkey took some of arya's show personality with relation to her mindset and shes uhhhh not in a great place  
> chapter title from shatter me feat. lzzy hale by lindsey stirling (which btw is an incredible song pls listen to it)

Arya didn’t know what she expected to feel after the Freys were killed, but she didn’t feel anything different than she had any other time someone had died by her hand.

Mostly, she felt relieved to have left The Twins. For the past week as she wore Old Walder Frey’s face and slept in his bed, she was haunted by the memory of the Red Wedding and what that same man had done to her brother and mother.

She relished in the look in Old Walder’s eyes when he believed he was eating his sons and she savoured how he tried to stem the flow of blood from his throat as he bled out, but she still felt nothing.

She felt nothing when the Freys guilty of violating guest right choked on their own vomit at the dinner table.

She felt nothing when she stabbed Polliver in the throat

She felt nothing when she returned the Waif’s face to the House of Black and White.

Arya was tired of feeling nothing.

For so long all she knew was anger and vengeance and a feeling of justice and fear. Now that the realm was likely convinced she was long dead or married to Ramsay Bolton, she didn’t have to live in fear that someone would capture her and try to ransom her to the Lannisters or the Boltons. After nearly a decade, she was finally able to go home.

She just didn’t know if she had a home to return to. 

The last Arya had heard of Winterfell, it had been taken by the Boltons from Theon Greyjoy who took it from her brother Bran. Theon’s invasion of Winterfell not only led to it eventually being burned, it led to Bran and Rickon being murdered by Theon.

Thinking of the murder of her brothers and destruction of her home made her feel the first thing in a long time; pure rage. She knew that if she ever came face to face with Theon Greyjoy again, she would kill him where he stood, along with Roose Bolton and Ramsay Snow. 

She didn’t want to think of what became of Jon and Sansa. In her mind, they had taken Winterfell back somehow, but that was fantasy. Last she’d heard, Sansa was accused of murdering Joffrey and had become a fugitive, and Jon was a sworn member of the Night’s Watch. He wouldn’t be allowed to leave his post, especially if it was to take back his home. They’d label him as a deserter and execute him. 

To hear she was supposedly married to a Bolton was a shock. She had been missing for nearly eight years, and before apparently marrying Ramsay, she was certain everyone thought her dead. Not for the first time, she wondered what poor girl had taken her place and what strings had to have been pulled to get her there.

Arya was jolted out of her thoughts and back into the present by shouts and a feminine scream. She feared the worst, and ran as fast as she could toward the sound, relying on her finely tuned instincts to lead her.

A young woman was surrounded by three rather large men. All held swords, but from the way the woman held hers, Arya could tell she’d never held one in her life until recently.

“Put down that sword, girlie.” They hadn’t noticed Arya yet. “You don’t need it.”

“I won’t let you take it!” she screamed. “I won’t let you take anything else from me! Just leave me alone!”

She was panicking nearly to the point of hysteria. If Arya didn’t do anything soon, the bandits might kill this woman.

“We can’t do that,” said the man closest to Arya, in a sickly sweet voice, “now put down the sword and hand over the rest of your c-“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Needle was buried in his throat. His companions whirled on her. She narrowly avoided his blade and buried her own into his eye and pulled out a dagger to cut his throat with.

She turned to face the last man to find him holding the woman to his chest, his sword at her throat.

It was at that moment Arya realized she knew the woman. 

Myrcella Baratheon was not someone Arya spent much time with in King’s Landing. She was more Sansa’s friend than Arya’s, not that Myrcella wanted anything to do with Arya at the time. Even if the girls wanted to be friends, Cersei never would have allowed Arya to get anywhere near her children after what happened between her and Joffrey at the Trident.

Arya did her best to give Myrcella the most reassuring look she could, hoping she recognized her.

“Let her go.”

“Only if you give me that sword,” he gestured toward Needle.

“No.”

“Then I guess she dies, then you die.”

“I don’t like that deal.”

“Then give me your sword!”

His sword pressed deeper into Myrcella’s throat, and Arya knew she had to do something fast. 

_Quick as a cat,_ she thought to herself and before she even finished her thought, the knife in her hand was in the man’s throat. All she could think about was getting the man’s sword away from Myrcella’s neck and Arya was grateful that Myrcella had the foresight to push his arm off of her before he fell and took her with him. 

“Thank you,” Myrcella said in a small voice. She was clearly shaken by what just happened.

“You’re welcome,” Arya responded after a moment’s hesitation. She was distracted by how pretty the Baratheon daughter had become. Her golden hair still looked soft and perfectly curled and her green eyes were the colour of the trees of the Riverlands. 

Myrcella knelt down to pick her sword, which she had dropped in the scuffle, off the forest floor. Once she stood back up, she took a moment to properly look at Arya now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

“Wait, I know you, don’t I?”

“It uh... it’s possible my lady.”

“No, I do. You’re Arya Stark. You’re Lord Stark’s daughter. Why are you here?”

Arya was at a loss for words. How could she even begin to explain that the reason she was heading south was because she was going to kill this girl’s mother? Arya herself had killed the men responsible for her own mother’s death, and she didn’t want to imagine what Myrcella might think to do. She’d seemed like a sweet thing when they were children, but Arya knew better than anyone how time and experience can change anyone.

“Why are _you_ here,” Arya replied. 

“Well… that’s quite a long story.”

“Mine too.”


	4. all tied up, no more love, and i'd hate to see you waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a chapter count!!! it is tentative and i have 26 chapters outlined so this is definitely going to change, but it feels good!!!!!!  
> title from high hopes by panic! at the disco

Myrcella had gotten out of the capital as soon as she could after confronting her mother. She had enough money to buy what she hoped was a decent sword off the Street of Steel, all the while keeping her hood down in fear that someone would recognize her. She used whatever money she had leftover to buy some food and, against her better judgement, stole a horse from the castle stables. She hoped the horse wouldn’t be missed by anyone. 

She was going to Dragonstone, which she hoped was the first place Daenerys Targaryen would land when she came to Westeros. She didn’t exactly know how she was going to get to Dragonstone or what she was going to say to Queen Daenerys once she got there or even what she would do if the Mother of Dragons _didn’t_ land on Dragonstone first. She knew the magnitude of the chance she was making, but she was desperate. She loved her mother, but the last thing she wanted was her mother on the Iron Throne.

\-------------------

She had been travelling for days. She longed for the comfort of her bed in King’s Landing or Sunspear, and she desperately needed a bath, but she used all her coin in King’s Landing before she left and couldn’t afford to stop at an inn. Additionally, she lived in fear that someone would recognize her and she would be dragged back to the Red Keep by her hair. 

As uncomfortable as the forest floor was, she was a deep sleeper. That was how she slept through being a victim of thievery. She only woke up when the men attempted to take her sword and the necklace her mother gave her off her while she slept. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she screamed. “Unhand me!”

“Why should we do that?” one of the men asked. “That necklace could go for a good amount of coin, and we could always use another sword.”

His breath smelled disgusting and his voice made her feel even more so. She began to scream for help and she drew her sword, even though she knew she didn’t even know how to hold it properly. At the very least, she would go down fighting.

The men laughed. “Put the sword down, girlie,” the one with the foul breath grinned. “You don’t ne-”

Before he could finish speaking, a skinny blade pierced his throat from behind. One of his companions grabbed her while the other went after the mysterious newcomer. Myrcella was too distracted by the man’s sword at his throat to realize the second man was dead and on the ground along with her own sword. 

The man- no, _woman_ \- who killed both the companions of the man holding her turned to them. Her grey eyes seemed oddly familiar and somehow reassuring despite the bloody, skinny blade she was holding. 

“Let her go,” the woman said in a quiet and calm voice. How could she be so calm?

“Only if you give me that sword,” the man retaliated, his grip on Myrcella tightening.

“I don’t like that deal,” the woman stated in a neutral voice, as if she couldn’t care either way.

“Then give me your sword!” His own blade dug deeper into Myrcella’s neck. _This is how I die,_ she thought. 

She didn’t even see the woman move. One moment, Myrcella was about to have her throat slit and the next, she was shoving the now dead man’s arm off of her so his dead weight didn’t drag her down. She tried to focus on keeping her shaking hands still as she collected her sword from the ground. She was hoping that she would encounter someone who might teach her how to use it so this wouldn’t happen again. Until that day, the sword was a kind of a comfort to her. She felt safer with the sword on her hip than she ever did wandering the capital without one.

“Thank you,” she stammered, shakily.

“You’re welcome.” 

It was then that she recognized the woman. She should have realized it sooner. Few people in Westeros had her shade of grey in her eyes, and although she hadn’t spent much time around Ned Stark when he was alive, she would recognize his look anywhere.

“Do I know you?” Myrcella didn’t want to scare her off. For all she knew, pairing up with this woman may be her best chance at survival what with her skill with a blade and how she’d survived this long herself with presumably little help.

“I uh- it’s possible, my lady.”

“No, I do.” Myrcella took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. “You’re Arya Stark.”

Arya’s eyes widened.

“You’re Lord Stark’s daughter. Why are you here?”

The dark haired woman seemed at a loss for words. She opened and closed her mouth as if she was going to say something multiple times before she finally did say something.

“Why are _you_ here?” she retaliated, almost as if she was taking the defensive. 

Myrcella was ashamed. Her mother had taken so much from the girl in front of her, and she was afraid of what Arya might do if she knew what Cersei had done. She’d seen the Stark daughter’s skill with a sword and knew she wouldn’t hesitate to use it if she felt like she needed to. She _also_ knew Arya had killed before; her ability to do so without hesitation gave her away. 

“Well.... that’s quite a long story,” Myrcella breathed, hoping Arya wouldn’t question her avoidance of the question.

To Myrcella’s surprise, Arya’s eyes softened. She could see a deep sadness hidden there and, not for the first time, wondered where she had been and what had happened to her. 

“Mine too,” Arya whispered softly. Myrcella could barely hear her.

“Where are you headed?” Arya inquired. “Maybe I could escort you.”

“ _Escort_ me?”

“Maybe that wasn’t the right word,” she backtracked. “Maybe I could come with you. I could certainly use the compa.ny and you look like you could use some food.”

She was right, of course. Myrcella’s food ran out two days ago and she didn’t think she’d ever felt so hungry in her life.

“I have some coin left,” Arya continued. “I know an inn nearby that has really good pies, and I have an old friend there.”

How did a highborn girl make friends with an innkeep? Or someone who worked for an innkeep. Although, with the way she befriended that butcher’s boy so quickly, maybe Myrcella shouldn’t have been so surprised. 

Thinking of that butcher’s boy made guilt turn her stomach.

“I’m absolutely starving,” Myrcella remarked, making Arya’s eyes light up with… excitement? Anxiety? Myrcella didn’t know.

“Lead the way, good ser.”

“Ser?”

“Yes,” Myrcella smirked. “You’re my knight in shining armour.”

Arya frowned. “I’m no knight.”

“Well you’ve done more for me in an hour than any knight I’ve known in my entire life. I think you’ve earned the title. Regardless, show me to the inn. I might pass out from starvation if you keep me any longer.”

Arya chuckled. “Right this way, _your grace_.”

“How you wound me, _good ser_.”


	5. so close i can taste it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> henlo and welcome back  
> i might be cutting back on updating as i head into finals and put more time into my gbb fic and term projects. all my classes have been moved to online but i'm still a very busy person :D  
> title from emperor's new clothes by panic! at the disco

The inn was just as Arya remembered it. It was small and children were running around the dining room. In the back of her mind, she hoped Jeyne wouldn’t be too hard on them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Myrcella throw the hood of her cloak over her head and look down. Arya wanted to tell her that there was little chance she would be recognized here, but she understood the sometimes irrational fear of being caught. 

Arya led Myrcella to a somehow empty table in a corner, despite wanting to sit closer to a pair of surly men who seemed to be soldiers of some kind. She wanted intel, but Myrcella’s fears came first. The only thing more conspicuous than a girl who looked like a princess was a girl who looked like she was running from something.

“I’ll go get us some food,” Arya told her. Myrcella nodded ever so slightly.

When she turned around, she almost smacked into one of the workers.

“Arry!”

“Hello, Hot Pie,” she said as she hugged the boy, wincing as he squeezed her.

He sat down, placing the tray of food on the table. The sound of the tray slamming down and the smell of it caught Myrcella’s attention and Arya saw her peek out from under her hood.

“Is that for anyone?” Arya asked.

Hot Pie shrugged and Arya moved one of the pies in front of Myrcella, who abandoned any and all manners that had been ingrained into her as a child and began devouring it much to Arya’s amusement. Hot Pie remained oblivious.

“What brings ya to the Crossroads in, Arry?” the plump boy asked. “Thought you were up North?”

“I never was,” Arya responded distractedly, too busy digging into the pie she claimed as her own to answer him properly.

“Coulda sworn you were. Guess that big lady knight never found ya,”

That got her attention. There was only one woman who would look to be a knight in Hot Pie’s eyes.

“Yeah, the lady knight and her squire. She was real nice. Gave me extra coin!” 

“She wasn’t a knight, and she did find me.”

“Did she bring you back to Winterfell? Did you run away? Where have you been all this time?”

Arya ignored his questions. She doubted Hot Pie would look at her the same way if he knew what she’d been doing these past couple of years.

“What happened to Gendry? I thought you two would never separate. Why aren’t you in Winterfell?”

Finally, she snapped.

“Why would I be in Winterfell? It’s held by the Boltons.”

“For true? I coulda sworn I heard that Jon Snow came and took it back.”

Arya stopped. Myrcella was looking at her with concern in her eyes, but Arya couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge her.

“What?”

“You don’t know? I thought you were at Winterfell, married to the Bolton bastard. The stories say that you went to Jon Snow at the Wall and together you brought them down and took Winterfell back! It’s quite a story, to tell you the truth.”

Arya stared down at her empty plate and didn’t respond. Would Jon have felt betrayed when the girl who married Ramsay in her place appeared at Castle Black happened to not be her? Did he think her to be dead? Did Sansa think her to be dead? Bran? Rickon probably didn’t remember her, and the thought made her sad. Did Robb and her mother think her to be dead before they died themselves? 

“You’re crying.” Hot Pie’s voice brought her back to the present.

She brought a hand to her cheek to find it wet with tears. She wiped them away and got up.

“We’re leaving.” She pulled out her coin purse to pay him for the food, but he stopped her.

“You could stay for a night. Both of you look like you need rest and I bet Jeyne remembers you. She wouldn’t mind.”

Arya looked to Myrcella, who looked torn. She had dark bags under her eyes and practically inhaled the pie she had, but she looked ready to run.

“Thank you, Hot Pie, but I think we have to leave.” She began to fish out some coins from her bag but he stopped her again.

“Friends don’t pay.”

She felt tears well up in her eyes again and smiled at him. She was glad she chose to come here.

“I can’t believe I thought you were a boy,” Hot Pie remarked. “You’re pretty!”

Arya could feel Myrcella’s eyes on her.

“Thanks.”

“Why did he say he thought you were a boy?” Myrcella asked once they were outside. 

“I uh..” Arya didn’t know what to tell her. Did she trust Myrcella enough to tell her about what she had to do to survive? Was she ready to talk about what happened at Harrenhal or The Twins or Braavos?

“I was… disguised as a boy. I was in hiding from your brother and your mother,” she blurted.

She felt Myrcella’s eyes on her and didn’t feel comfortable elaborating. As it was, she was remembering how Gendry looked strapped to that chair and the _boom boom boom_ of the drums. She didn’t know if she could go any further.

“Really?” Myrcella asked. She might have tried to say something else, but Arya interrupted before she could continue.

“We should get going,” Arya said rather dully. “I want to find a good place to set up camp.”


	6. ain't it fun, living in the real world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> henlo!!!!!  
> i know its been a hot minute but i've been beyond stressed and all my motivation went right out the window  
> i had a scene i wanted to include but its very much a next chapter scene and it will have to wait :///  
> anyways, i hope you enjoy this! i want to title it later when my brain cell is back online  
> edit: brain cell is back online! barely, but i managed to title it. (title from ain't it fun by paramore, btw)

The sun set faster than either of them expected. At least, faster than Myrcella expected. Within a couple hours of riding, the sun went from fully in the sky to halfway behind the mountains of the Eyrie. There was a biting chill in the air that made Myrcella shiver, but seemed to barely affect Arya. _Damn her Northern blood!_

Before long, Arya found a spot she declared suitable for setting up camp. The space was flat and the dirt was rather compact. She thanked the Gods for the apparent lack of rain recently, otherwise she would have insisted they ride through the night.

They dismounted, and Arya began pulling bags and what looked like a blanket off her horse. Myrcella looked to her rather bare horse, ashamed. It was obvious Arya was more prepared than her for travelling. Before their encounter, Myrcella had taken to curling up as close as possible to her horse for warmth. 

“Can you start a fire?” Arya asked.

“Um…” Myrcella felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.

“It’s alright if you can’t,” Arya said gently. “I just wanted to know if you could while I finished laying out my bedroll.”

She seemed almost empathetic and understanding. Myrcella hadn’t been taught to start fires or how to prepare for travel when you _can’t_ stop at an inn. There had never been a need. While travelling to and from Winterfell, they’d only stopped at inns her mother had deemed suitable to stop at and she’d gone to and from Dorne in a ship, so there was no need to stop and rest, as she’d had a bed in a cabin. 

She felt guilty letting Arya do all the work, but she didn’t know exactly what to do and would only get in the way.

It hadn’t taken Arya long to finish setting up camp. Within the hour, the two were sitting in front of the small fire (“Small, so as to not attract any unwanted attention like our friends earlier today,” Arya had explained). Myrcella was colder than she’d ever been and was trying to stay as close to the fire as she possibly could. She’d even been tempted to stick her hands directly into the fire because they were so cold. 

The squirrel Arya had managed to catch for their supper was bland and not enough in Myrcella’s opinion, but she wouldn’t dare complain. It was food, and some food was better than none. 

“You haven’t told me where you’re headed yet.” Arya’s voice broke the awkward silence between them.

“Neither have you,” Myrcella challenged.

“I haven’t figured that out yet.” Obviously, Hot Pie’s news earlier about her home and her brother had shaken her. “But you’re the princess and at this point the rightful queen. You must have some reason to be in the Riverlands alone.”

Myrcella had wanted to point out that Arya was also technically a princess and rightful Queen of the North, but she didn’t know if that still applied.

“My mother… I couldn’t stand to be around her. Especially not now, when I know what she’s capable of doing.

“She’s been manipulating Tommen. Whispering in his ear, trying to stay in power ever since he became king. I think she did the same with Joffrey. She hated when he married because it meant she lost her power as Queen Regent. She did all she could to get rid of Margaery but she couldn’t so she had her killed along with hundreds of others by blowing up the Sept of Baelor. Tommen killed himself after he saw what happened. He loved Margaery, and Mother took her from him.”

Myrcella risked a glance at Arya. Her grey eyes were wide in shock.

“After that, I knew I couldn’t stay there. Especially if I was to be queen and she was there, trying to control me.”

“But she’s queen now,” Arya pointed out. “What did running away change?”

“I’m going to find Daenerys Targaryen.” The determination in Myrcella’s voice startled even herself. “The rumours say she abolished slavery in Essos. They say she has a kind heart and a good mind for leading. I hope she’s a better leader than anything Westeros has had in the past fifty years.”

“Men are scared of her…” Arya was deep in thought and Myrcella didn’t blame her. It was a lot to take in. 

“The only problem,” Myrcella continued, “is that I’m not entirely sure where she is or how to find her. Last I heard she was in Meereen, but she was sailing west. I’m not sure where she plans to land.”

“Dragonstone, most like,” Arya stated. “But we’d need to buy our way onto a ship or sneak aboard, and I don’t think there’d be any ships sailing to Dragonstone.”

“You never know. There might be some merchants.” Myrcella knew her argument was weak. Dragonstone was not a large island and she knew few lived there, especially after her uncle Stannis went North.

Arya smiled slightly in amusement. “There might be. Regardless, we’ll do our best to get to Dragonstone.”

Myrcella was shocked. “You’ll help me?”

“Yes.” Arya seemed almost uncertain of her decision, but she did not change her mind. 

“Do you have a plan?” Myrcella asked.

“No, but that’s a problem for tomorrow,’ Arya answered. “Get some sleep. We’ll get going in the morning.”


	7. here in the darkness i know myself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof it has been a while! tbh i needed a bit of a change so here we are!  
> pls keep in mind that i am just estimating where the crossroads are since my copy of asos doesnt show it on the map :/ so its a rough estimate also considering where they might have met up!  
> i dont think i'll be posting another chapter earlier than july because my courses this semester are a loooooot harder than i thought they'd be and my main focus right now is the gendrya bigbang. i havent forgotten about this fic tho! i am determined to finish it!  
> title from lithium by evanescence

The night was cold, even for Arya’s northern blood. Their fire had died down hours ago and she was beginning to shiver. It reminded her of being on the road with Gendry and Hot Pie all those years ago. 

Losing sleep wasn’t uncommon for her anymore. There were so many nights when she couldn’t sleep, mainly because of nightmares, but sometimes because she was too on edge, like tonight. Too many bad things can happen in the woods of Westeros, especially to two young women travelling by themselves. No matter how capable Arya was when it came to defending herself, she had her limits, and Myrcella wouldn’t be much help. She considered maybe teaching Myrcella a thing or two about defense. It could help her if she ever found herself in a situation like she had earlier, which wouldn’t happen again if Arya had her way.

Before she could form another thought, she was brought back to reality by an unfamiliar sound coming from behind her. She sat up and whirled around, her hand on her Needle, only to find the sound was coming from Myrcella. The fair-haired girl was shivering violently and her teeth were audibly chattering. Arya felt sympathy for her; it wasn’t easy to build up resistance to the cold, especially if someone’s spent the last several years in Dorne. Additionally, with winter coming, the nights would only get colder.

Arya moved closer to her, hoping some of her body heat would help warm up the other girl. She had no idea what drove her to do such a thing, especially with someone who might as well be a complete stranger, but it was too late to turn back now. Myrcella had already turned towards her, tucking her head into Arya’s chest and curling up tighter to keep warm. Arya smiled slightly and eventually felt her eyes begin to grow heavy.

When she opened her eyes, the sun was high in the sky and Myrcella was already awake and moving. 

“Good morning, good ser,” she said cheerfully. “I was wondering if you were going to wake up soon or if you were going to sleep the day away.”

Arya rubbed sleep out of her eyes. If Myrcella had problems with what Arya did last night, she didn’t say anything about it. Instead, she sat beside Arya and offered a piece of bread from the loaf Hot Pie insisted they take yesterday when they left the inn. He insisted that he didn’t want them to starve while on the road and Arya didn’t have the heart to tell him it wouldn’t last long. Food was food. It was a lesson she’d learned long ago. 

“So,” Myrcella began, watching intently as Arya broke her fast, “how are we meant to get to Dragonstone?”

Arya hadn’t given it much thought. Between finding camp and making sure her travelling companion didn’t freeze to death, she hadn’t been able to consider how in the seven hells they were supposed to make it to Dragonstone.

“They have to get supplies from somewhere, right?” Arya asked, knowing the answer was a given.

Myrcella nodded.

“So there should be at least a few ships carrying goods to Dragonstone. We could sneak onto one of them to get passage at least.”

“What if we get caught?” Myrcella asked.

“We won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I don’t know what we’ll do if we get caught,” Arya exclaimed. “But there really aren't many other options, are there?”

“You’re right,” Myrcella conceded. “What’s the town nearest Dragonstone?”

Arya hesitated. It had been years, but she could still recall everything about Northern geography. She even remembered the layout of the Riverlands, to an extent. She just couldn’t recall where they’d sail to Dragonstone from.

“There used to be a trade route from White Harbour to Dragonstone,” Myrcella pointed out.

“The North has been independent for years, and your uncle most likely shut that down when the war started,” Arya responded. “Besides, we’re not equipped to travel North.”

Myrcella seemed like she wanted to say something, but decided against it. Instead, she reached into a small bag Arya didn’t realize she had and pulled out a map.

“You have a map and you didn’t think to check it?” Arya asked, realizing she sounded a bit too harsh.

“I don’t exactly know where we are,” Myrcella admitted.

Arya looked over at Myrcella’s map, hoping she could help.

“We should be right around here,” she said, pointing out a spot on the map around Lord Harroway’s town. “Dragonstone probably has supplies coming in from Duskendale, so that’s where we’ll head.”

“Seems fair,” Myrcella answered. Arya noted they would be heading back in the direction Myrcella had come and would have laughed had she not realized their proximity to Harrenhal. Memories rushed through her mind unbidden and she shook her head in a weak attempt to clear it.

“We should get going,” Arya told Myrcella. “It’s a bit of a journey to Duskendale.”


	8. my roots run deep into the hollow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! it's been a hot minute but apparently i had a bunch of partially formed ideas and half written chapters to act on so i'm on a bit of a roll right now. this chapter ended up being longer than the others did and involves a lot of our two favourite gays sparring so enjoy!  
> chapter title from roots by in this moment

Myrcella woke at the break of dawn one morning shivering. It took her several moments to regain her bearings and realize that something- no someone- was missing.

“Arya?” she asked, realizing there was no one at her back like there usually was. 

Myrcella didn’t get a response.

“Arya?” she asked again, more panicked this time as she got up and snatched her sword from the ground. She may not know how to use it, but she would try her best if she needed to.

It took several more moments for the grunts nearby to register in Myrcella’s mind. She followed the sound and discovered where her companion went.

Arya had her sword in her hand and she was practicing with it. It seemed more like she was dancing, however. Her movements were fluid, every part of her moving in harmony with the rest. She held her sword like it was an extension of her arm, like it was a part of herself that she couldn’t drop. It made Myrcella suddenly aware of her own sword, still in her hand, and how easily it could fall from her grip. Arya had her eyes closed, which was a curious choice in Myrcella’s opinion. She thought that it was harder to move blind, but Arya seemed sure of her every movement.

“I know you’re there,” Arya said, her back facing Myrcella.

“How?” Myrcella stuttered. “You can’t see me.”

“Yes, but there is more to sight than just seeing,” Arya explained, continuing to go through her movements despite the sudden distraction.

“What are you doing?” Myrcella asked.

“Water dancing.”

“What’s water dancing?”

“A way of the sword practiced by the Braavosi.”

“How do you know it?”

Arya stopped in her tracks and turned to face Myrcella, her routine apparently finished. “I was taught,” she said.

Myrcella sighed in frustration. “ _Obviously_ you were taught. Who taught you though? Have you been to Braavos?”

Arya swallowed, harshly. “I have, but that’s not where I learned this. I was taught by Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos.

“I remember Syrio!” Myrcella explained. “He was a kind man. I passed him in the halls once or twice and he always said hello to me.” It didn’t seem important now, but when Myrcella was a child, all she wanted was to be seen as a person, not a princess. Everyone treated her as if she was glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. She was grateful to anyone who treated her as a person rather than a princess.

“My father hired him,” Arya explained, “to train me. I wanted to fight, so he got someone to teach me.” Myrcella noticed that the corners of her mouth twitched upwards as she remembered.

“He died, didn’t he?” Myrcella asked.

Arya nodded in response.

“I’m sorry,” Myrcella told her. “It was my brother’s doing that brought this down on your family.”

“Your brother’s doing, but not yours,” Arya explained. “I do not blame you for what happened between your family and mine. You were an innocent, just as I was.”

Myrcella smiled sadly in response.

“I can teach you,” Arya said.

“Teach me what?” 

“How to use that sword of yours. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to know how to defend yourself if need be.”

Myrcella’s heart nearly burst out of her chest. Was Arya offering to train her? 

Never in her entire life did she ever imagine someone would offer to train her in the art of swordfighting. She was raised as a sheltered child, meant to do nothing more than to marry a lord and give him heir after heir. She was meant to hand him his sword as he went off to defend his home. 

“Are you being serious?” Myrcella asked.

“Well, I don’t know too much, but I know the basics. At the very least, you can get your strength up a bit,” Arya told her. 

Excited, Myrcella swooped in and engulfed her friend in a hug, which Arya returned hesitantly, as if she was unused to it. 

“Yes, I would like you to train me. I would like nothing more.”

“Alright then, let’s get started.”

Myrcella readied her sword in what she thought to be a defensive stance while Arya went searching for something on the ground. Before long, she popped back up with two large sticks in her hand and Myrcella did her best to hide her disappointment, but ultimately failed.

“It won’t do us much good if we have infections to worry about,” Arya stated and tossed one of the sticks at Myrcella. She tried to catch it, but the stick bounced off her hand and fell to the floor.

“Tomorrow, you’ll catch that,” Arya told her.

“I doubt it,” Myrcella responded with a chuckle.

“You will. Now, copy my stance.”

Myrcella did her best to move into the same stance Arya was in, but couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something wrong. 

“This is silly,” she scoffed.

“It may seem like it now, but if you stand like this, you’ll be immovable in an actual fight. You want it to feel like you’re rooted in the ground. If you envision it that way and you feel that way, then your opponent can’t knock you over and get the upper hand on you easily.”

Myrcella tried again to get into the stance Arya was showing her. The brunette did her best to correct whatever Myrcella was doing wrong, which was a lot, to Myrcella’s dismay.

“Don’t worry,” Arya reassured her. “Over time, it’ll come naturally to you. Now, hold your sword in your preferred hand.”

Myrcella frowned. “But this is just a stick.”

“It is for now, but we’re going to pretend. Now, you’re holding it wrong.”

“It’s a bloody stick! How can I be ho-“ Myrcella was cut off when Arya’s stick flashed out and knocked Myrcella’s from her hand. 

“Your sword is meant to be an extension of yourself. You cannot drop a part of yourself, can you?”

Myrcella thought of her unc- _father_. “What if someone cuts your hand off?” she asked.

“Someone removing a part of you isn’t the same as you dropping it, now is it?”

“I suppose not. How do I hold it like its a part of myself though?”

“Practice. It all comes with time, Myrcella. Now, try and hit me.”

“I don’t want to hit you!” Myrcella exclaimed. “What if I hurt you?”

“It’s just like you said; it’s just a stick. Normally we’d have practice swords, but for now we’ll have to make do with what we have,” Arya said. “Now, whenever you’re ready, try and hit me.”

 _Seems easy enough,_ Myrcella thought. Arya seemed to be completely unprepared, yet Myrcella had a feeling she was anticipating her every move. She swung her stick at her friend with wild abandon and quickly found herself on the forest floor, her stick lost. She smiled to herself. In the Red Keep, no one would’ve dared to push her onto the ground like that. If she was ever allowed to learn what Arya was teaching her, any mentors she might have had would’ve treated her like a glass doll. Arya was different, though. It was easy to forget at times that Arya was raised as highborn herself. 

Myrcella sprang to her feet, her stick back in her hand, and rushed her again. This time, she managed to stay on her feet a little longer before Arya got the upper hand on her and knocked her back to the ground.

“You aren’t thinking, you’re just attacking. There’s no strategy to it. You’re also not grounding yourself,” Arya pointed out from above her.

Myrcella growled like the lion she was and spring to her feet again. She imagined roots sprouting out of her feet and into the ground as she stood closer to Arya than she did before. She reached out with her stick, trying to get Arya in what she thought was her blind side. The other woman was faster than Myrcella expected her to be. Myrcella spun in what she thought was a genius move, but instead found herself on her backside staring up at Arya.

“A move like that is the quickest way to get yourself disarmed,” Arya told her, offering her a hand to help her up.

“Then how do I do this?” Myrcella asked once she was back on her feet. “You’re too fast for me.”

“You have to keep your eye on your opponent at all times,” Arya told her. “Otherwise, you’ll end up dead on the ground before you can blink. Keep your movements restrained; if you don’t have control over yourself, your opponent can find weak spots and break them. A good offense is the best defense.”

Myrcella tried again, this time keeping her eye on Arya and never letting the contact break. She kept her movements as controlled as possible. Still, she ended up on the ground, staring up at her friend once again.

“I did everything you told me to do!” Myrcella exclaimed.

“You did,” Arya replied, amused. “You just need to build on what’s already there.”

Myrcella was panting, already exhausted from being thrown to the ground so many times.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Arya told her. “We can pick it back up tomorrow. We still have a long ways to go, and we can’t afford you being tired.”

“Fair enough,” Myrcella replied, finding out a flask and taking a long gulp of water.

The following trek was more exhausting than the day before. Myrcella didn’t know how she was still on her feet, considering her eyes kept trying to drift closed on her even as she walked. “We should get horses,” Arya said. “Might be easier.”

Myrcella nodded lazily. She had a feeling that her rump would be as sore as her feet if she was on horseback, but didn’t have the energy to voice that out loud. “It gets easier,” Arya said. “You’ll get used to it. That kind of exertion is hard at first, but if we keep practicing you’ll get more endurance.”

“That sounds so awful, though,” Myrcella complained. “If I keep practicing, I’ll feel like this every day. I don’t think it’s worth it.”

“You want to learn to fight, though,” Arya pointed out. “It’s a small price to pay in the long run.”

“Seems like an awfully big price.” Myrcella was losing the battle with her tired mind and she hoped they could stop soon, but it was unlikely given that it was still early in the day.

“It’ll be worth it, trust me,” Arya replied with a smile. “There’s nothing quite like knocking a man on his arse for the first time and seeing the look on his face.”

Myrcella smiled. It felt natural to trust Arya when she seemed so passionate about this, and despite her current exhaustion, she couldn’t wait to try again tomorrow.


	9. bring me to life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again :3 its been a hot minute. these past few months have been insanely overwhelming and i haven’t felt the motivation to write a lot lately. i have no idea if i’ll be able to write a whole lot since i have a pretty busy semester starting up next week but i’ll try my best.  
> this chapter doesn’t have arya and myrcella in it per se but does introduce the main plot of the story aside from arcella’s relationship  
> chapter title from bring me to life by evanescence (aka jon’s theme song to honour our first new pov outside of arya and myrcella)

Jon found that he quite liked Dragonstone. There was a consistent chill in the air, but it was nowhere near as cold as Winterfell or The Wall. After years living in the bitter cold and deep snow, the warmer weather was a nice reprieve.

He’d been on the island for a fortnight, more than half of which he spent convincing the Mother of Dragons that his quest was worth undertaking. Queen Daenerys, not being from the North like Jon, did not believe that the Others were a problem, nor did she believe that they even existed. He’d managed to convince her to let them mine dragonglass from the caves below the island, but even that took quite a bit of convincing and at times, he even considered begging. He needed that glass, and he wasn’t above giving up the North’s independence in order to save his people.

Despite the problems he’d had getting her on his side, Jon quite liked the Dragon Queen. She was headstrong and cared deeply for her people, including those who fought for her. Her stubbornness reminded him all too much of Arya, and his heart hurt whenever he thought of the similarities between them.

He’d gotten a raven from Sansa a few days previous saying that Bran had come home, but that he’d been relatively guarded and vague about his whereabouts over the past several years. She also mentioned Rickon’s welfare; how he’d been slowly returning to the wild boy from Jon’s distant memories. There was nothing in the letter about Arya, and although he’d been holding onto as much hope as he could, it was slowly slipping from his fingers. 

“Your Grace,” Jon spoke up as Queen Daenerys moved towards the door of the meeting room, “may I have a word?”

“You may, Lord Jon, as long as you make it quick,” the queen replied. “I’ve little time to spare at the moment.” 

Jon got the feeling that his constant nagging about the situation up North was beginning to get on her nerves. 

“I’ve decided to join forces with you,” he said. “The North will be beside you in the fight for the Iron Throne and we will join the Seven Kingdoms once you are on the throne.”

She’d explained to him once that her fight for the throne was entirely selfless, although she’d said it in different words. 

“I’ve heard the tales of Queen Cersei’s destruction in King’s Landing,” she’d told him once under the pale moonlight when he’d tried to ask her to aid him in his fight yet again. “My Hand has told me the stories of the people of King’s Landing starving in the streets with little more to their names than the clothes on their backs. He told me that being in Meereen somewhat reminded him of King’s Landing. The Lannisters claim to have all this money to their name, yet their people are starving and freezing? It isn’t right.”

“It’s something that has always been that way,” Jon explained. “I myself have never seen King’s Landing but my father would tell us about how the people fared sometimes. He never had much faith in King Robert as a leader.”

“Sounds like your father just has problems with leaders,” the queen remarked. “I’d accept your proposition if we didn’t need the Queen’s armies on our side if we are to win your war. If I were to believe every word you’ve said was true, if we don’t fight your war soon, then there wouldn’t be any kingdom to rule over. It’s a tricky situation you’ve put me in, Jon Snow. It’ll take some time before I make a decision.”

“With all respect, Your Grace, we don’t have much time left,” he argued back. “Before long, the Others will breach the Wall and progress South. We are safe here, for now, but soon the waters will freeze and the dead can cross. My family is still in the North, and my people as we-”

“And I must think about my people, my lord.”

“The Northerners will be your people, as well.”

Queen Daenerys took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You told me that the Wall is reinforced with the magic of the First Men, correct?” she asked.

Jon hesitated. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Then they’ll be held off for now,” she answered. “Unless you can convince me that these Others are real and are a bigger threat to this continent than Cersei herself, my priorities lie in King’s Landing.”

“If we can get Cersei on our side, then we have a better chance to win this war,” he said. He knew it was a risk, but it was one he had to take in order to save his people.

The queen, however, did not agree. “How exactly do you plan on persuading Cersei to join you, if you can’t even convince me to join you properly? How exactly do you plan to prove to us that the Others exist and that they’re a genuine threat?”

He took a moment to consider her words. She was right. How did he expect these women, historically enemies of his family, to side with him on his word alone? The Others were a myth, a fantastical story told to children that gave him nightmares. He remembered Sansa hating the stories when they were children because they scared him so, and she tried to ban them from repeating them to Bran and Rickon. To her chagrin and to Jon’s amusement, Arya did just that, and although Bran was fascinated with the stories, Rickon was terrified and hid behind Robb when she recounted them to him. 

Jon’s heart ached as he recalled the times before the war, when his family wasn’t divided and broken, and what was left to him wasn’t scarred by war. He missed them deeply. His deepest desire was to go back to Winterfell and hold his siblings, maybe run far, far away with them where he was certain the Others couldn’t reach them. He wanted to find what remained of the dead and give them a proper burial, one they deserved, and it hurt even more whenever he thought of them. His father was probably dumped in some shallow grave somewhere in King’s Landing while his head sat rotting on a pike like Sansa had told him once when they couldn’t sleep. What became of Robb had become a story much like the Others or the tales of the Rat Chef, and Jon knew he’d never get close enough to the Twins to claim his body anyways. No one knew for sure what became of Catelyn, but the rumours started by the Freys responsible for the massacre said that her body had been dumped in the river and had probably sunk to the bottom by now, never to be recovered. And Arya… no one knew what happened to her after his father died. There had been rumours that she’d died at the Red Wedding with their brother and her mother. She’d been allegedly married to Ramsay Bolton, but Jon was both relieved and devastated to realize that it was all a lie, and the girl Bolton had married was Jeyne Poole, Sansa’s childhood best friend. He was relieved to know his little sister wasn’t suffering at his hands, but if she wasn’t there, she was most likely dead. It was that thought that hurt him most of all. 

The deaths of his family haunted Jon in his dreams. Sometimes he wondered if it was worse for him to be left to his imagination regarding their deaths. For years he imagined Bran and Rickon’s charred corpses swaying in the breeze and Robb’s head replaced with Grey Wind’s and his father’s body collapsing to the ground. More recently, Arya had joined them, except her death was always different. Sometimes he imagined her being tortured by Ramsay Bolton or killed by the late King Joffrey for crimes she didn’t commit. He hoped she was out there somewhere, living her best life, safe and happy, However, he knew too much about the horrors of war to assume the best.

His heart ached as he recalled them and the Dragon Queen’s deep purple eyes brought him back to the present. 

“I see your point, Your Grace,” he said. “What can I do that would convince you to join my cause? How can I convince you that the most imminent danger to Westeros is not Cersei Lannister but the Others, marching south?”

She took a moment to consider his words. It would be difficult to convince her. He already knew what her answer would be, and he was already formulating a plan when she responded.

“Show me,” she commanded. “As of right now, your claim is little more than a Northern myth. Bring me one of these Others and then I’ll consider joining your cause. It is not a guarantee, Lord Snow, but proof would make your claim more concrete.”

He nodded in consent. “Consider it done.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re truly going to capture one of these undead creatures to prove yourself to me?” she asked, incredulously.

“This could mean the end of not only  
my people, but the entirety of Westeros if the Others invade,” he replied. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get as much help defeating them as I can.”

Daenerys shook her head. “You are a brave fool, Jon Snow. Try not to let this be your end.”

At that, she left the room, leaving Jon behind to ponder what he'd just agreed to. After a moment, he left to find Ser Davos. They'd had a journey to plan, after all.


End file.
